Dire End (The Austin Wolves Series Book 4), page 1
DIRE END
THE AUSTIN WOLVES SERIES
BOOK FOUR
C. P. RIDER
VC GROUP, LLC
Copyright © 2024 by C. P. Rider
Cover design by The Book Brander www.thebookbrander.com
Developmental editing by Sue Brown-Moore SueBrownMoore.com
Line editing by Danielle Fine, By Definition www.daniellefine.com
Proofreading by Sarita Pitones
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my brilliant editor, Danielle Fine
CONTENTS
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Also by C. P. Rider
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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CHAPTER ONE
Alpha Juan Martinez kicked open the motel room door, sending it flying off its hinges and spinning into the dirt parking lot like a giant Frisbee. He bellowed a howl that shook the windows and sent a primal shiver down my spine.
"Emmaline, get over here."
Oh, for Pete's sake. Not again.
It had been this way for the two months we'd spent living in the New Mexico motel. My mate, Juan Martinez, an alpha leader with Nostradamus-level foresight, had purchased the motel, the café, and all the property in between. Something he'd done without telling me, or anyone—except his cousin Gloria, a real estate broker in Austin.
Then, in an act of hitherto unheard-of cooperation and coordination, the man had installed his own people to get the place started and arranged for assistance from shifter groups in Roswell, Lubbock, and Juarez in hiring shifter-friendly contractors and workers. This, after repeatedly assuring everyone east—and west—of the Pecos River that he had no intention of taking over their territories.
In other words, the man had been busy.
"I'm going to have breakfast at the café, wolves. Alone. Get used to the idea."
"The fuck you are," Juan replied, his voice dragging the barrel-bottom of his vocal range.
Vox's shadows exploded around my shoulders. "Calm down," I murmured, stroking them like the humped spine of an affectionate cat. "We know he's having trouble with control."
Juan had been working to assimilate his berserker into his "inner pack," and it had been like trying to acclimate a lion to a library. The berserker was hyper-vigilant when it came to safety and protection and had taken to riding roughshod over Juan's human mind whenever he became stressed.
This was a huge change from the berserker only being able to show up when Juan was in dire-wolf prehistoric form. Neither of his wolves—Texas red or dire wolf—were happy about him elbowing forward any time he thought danger was afoot.
Human-Juan was especially pissed about it.
"You're going to fix that." I jabbed my finger at him and my thumb at the broken motel-room door lying in the parking lot like hospitality shrapnel. "And it had better be done by the time I get home with your breakfast."
"Not alone."
He stomped through the doorway wearing only a pair of blue pajama bottoms that hung low on his muscled hips. His feet and chest were bare, his jaw scruffy with the beginnings of a beard, and his hair overgrown and messy. He looked so good I was tempted to ditch my trip to the café and jump his bones right here and now.
No, Emmaline. I mentally chastised myself. Ignore that adonis belt. Ignore the pec ripple. Ignore the spreading warmth in your groin. Be strong. He cannot be allowed to get away with this bullshit.
"Yes, alone," I said. "If you're a good wolf, I'll bring you back some peanut butter cups, too."
His gaze lit up with interest for a moment then he jerked his head as if shaking away whatever argument the other wolves were making inside his head.
"You're hurt."
"I'm not hurt anymore. Look." I did a classic bodybuilder pose––feet planted shoulder-width apart, arms raised to showcase my nonexistent biceps. "Strong, healthy, flexible."
"No."
"Are you saying I'm not flexible? Because that's not what human-you said last night." I waggled my brows.
"Stay, monita." He frowned, shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Close to me."
Uh-oh. He'd used my nickname. Monita was Spanish for several things, depending on the country—doll, blond, monkey—but Juan had meant it as monkey because I had a habit of climbing all over him. He'd made it sound cute, so I'd let him call me that. He mostly used it in intimate situations, anyway.
"Don't go, my love," he said.
Damn it, I could stomp all over his feelings when he was being an arrogant tool, but this vulnerable act was hard to resist.
Still, I knew better. When the berserker was in charge, everything was a manipulation.
"Stop trying to make me feel sorry for you." I scowled into his unsettling golden eyes. "We don't use our tender feelings for each other as a weakness to exploit. You're being a bad mate."
A low growl rumbled in his chest. Gray fur bristled on his chest and arms. "You will stay."
"There have to be ten shifters working in the area, plus Chuck is taking care of the café." I backed up, not stopping until my ass hit the truck. "I'll be fine."
The berserker's gaze locked onto my feet. Tracking my progress. Stalking me.
"Back off, wolf."
Gods, the man was relentless. He'd been like this for weeks. Glued to my side and aggressively protective.
Protective, not possessive. Juan had no trouble with me being around other people, he simply demanded to be one of those people. At all times.
I loved the guy, but he was driving me straight-up bonkers.
Juan tilted his head to the side, left ear pointing skyward––a distinctly canine mannerism. "Stay?"
"No. I'm going to eat and come back. That's it."
"Please." His chin dropped to his chest. Again, he shifted his feet. "It's not safe."
"Juan." I softened my tone. "I get why you're worried about me, but it's not going to happen again."
"It won't." He lifted his head and gave me a crafty smile. "Because I will prevent it."
This had started back in Change.
After the dome came down—which was a nice way to say Juan's berserker had nearly killed me then accepted that I was his mate and ended up healing me instead—we all went to our respective resting spots to prepare for the trip to New Mexico.
The change in Juan had been immediate. He'd started walking on eggshells around the berserker, wary of exciting it in any way too soon after his, for lack of a better term, dark-side integration.
Unfortunately, that wariness had started a trend where I kept my opinions to myself if I thought they might upset him, which meant suppressing a huge part of who I was. And that shit was over, starting today. He'd had time to adjust. By continuing this farce, I was making it worse for both of us.
"Come inside. Let's talk," he said.
He wanted to talk. Right. The berserker didn't talk. He ordered.
"I am going to eat breakfast. I'll bring you breakfast, too. Get dressed and fix the door, and I'll be back."
His golden eyes narrowed.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and called, "Clive? Ruben? Let's go."
Juan continued to glare at me, though his eyes had faded to their normal pale-ale shade. The human was in charge again. Narrowly. His fists beat against the sides of his upper thighs. His toes dug into the dirt. Veins bulged in his temples.
"Hurry up," I yelled.
Clive barreled out of our room, brown wings flapping. Our fawn-colored Chihuahua Ruben was close on her heels—so to speak. I didn't know a lot about chickens, but I was pretty sure they didn't actually have heels.
I loaded the chicken and Chihuahua into the backseat of Juan's truck and got behind the wheel. Peered through the side window at the man I intended to spend the rest of my life with—however short that time might be, if the people trying to kill us had their way.
Juan's jaw tightened. He blinked, and his eyes brightened as if illuminated from behind with a golden bulb.
Uh-oh. Time to go.
I started the truck, threw it into gear, and jammed the gas to the floorboard. Dirt and gravel sprayed as the tires gained traction, and I shot out of the parking lot and down the road to the café.
When I walked through the glass front door, Chuck Martinez, one of Juan's many cousins, was stacking napkins behind the counter. His wife Lena was seated at the counter with a cup of coffee and a disassembled vintage milkshake machine in front of her.
"Hi, Emmaline, Ruben, Clive. Sit wherever. Brewing a fresh pot. I'll bring you a cup as soon as it's done—and a water bowl." Chuck picked up Lena's mug and set it beside the coffeemaker. "Amor, give it up. That thing is ancient. It can't be fixed."
"Hi, Chuck, Lena," I said, and found a booth. Clive and Ruben ducked under the table and peered out at the restaurant.
"Hello, Emmaline." Lena dropped a small screw onto a saucer and pointed at her husband with her screwdriver. "Carlos, don't you dare tell me it can't be done. I can fix anything. It's my superpower."
I smiled. Lena was a mechanic by trade and one hundred percent human. Carlos, a.k.a. Chuck, ran the Martinez household in Austin and was a natural-born wolf shifter. They were very happy together, but Lena had no intention of joining the pack or taking the more drastic measure of attempting to become a shifter. They were content to be who they were.
The only two categories of paranormals able to convert a person from human to paranormal were shapeshifters and witches. Witches could be taught; therefore, it followed that a human could become one, though if they had no magic in their bloodline, their power would be limited.
It was different for shifters. A shifter could change a human into one of them, but it was horribly dangerous, unpredictable, and a direct violation of the Shifter treaty.
Still, people did it. Largely unsuccessfully.
"That's not your superpower, baby." Chuck raised his thick black brows at his wife. He was in his mid-fifties and built like a Hollywood action hero with bulging muscles and a shaved bald head.
Lena fought a smile. She was tall, an inch taller than her husband, and built strong, though she didn't have Chuck's muscle mass. Her skin was a ruddy shade of white and her hair ash-brown with strands of silver, like mine. She was a couple years older than Chuck and looked five years younger.
"My second superpower." She winked.
"Oh my gods, I'm right here," a voice called from the kitchen. "I can hear everything you're saying, and I'd like to remind you that I've been involuntarily single for the last two years and you aren't making that fact any easier."
"Sorry." Chuck grinned, not looking apologetic in the least.
"You sound like one of those sad, creepy dudes on the internet, Haven," Lena said, without looking up from the motor in her hands.
"Hey, I'm not involuntarily celibate. I'm involuntarily single. I have no trouble getting laid." Haven Dyson pushed through the swinging door separating the kitchen from the dining room and whipped off her hair net, revealing a jet black, choppy pixie. She was around my age, with a tanned white face, delicate bone structure, and a compact, gymnast build. The makeup around her eyes was dark and smoky, her piercings prominent, and her clothes and jewelry were various shades of black.
"Oh, hey, it's my favorite local massage therapist—the only one, actually, but that doesn't make you any less special, Emmaline. Ruben. Clive." She looked around. "Where's your wolf?"
"We left him back at the motel," I said.
All three heads swiveled around.
"He let you out of his sight?" Chuck set a fresh cup of coffee in front of Lena and brought one over to me. "Doesn't sound like him."
"No, it doesn't. And it's high time he learned I'm not putting up with never being out of his sight. Or reach. Or whatever." I dumped some cream into the coffee and took a long sip. "Oh, that's good."
"Well, it's not like you're never out of his sight," Haven said. "We were alone when you gave me that massage yesterday."
"His wolves were in the next room, tracking my breath."
"Oh." She scrunched up her nose. "That's going to put a kink in your plans to start up a paranormal bodywork and relaxation clinic out here."
"Why don't any of you see this as weird? Is it because you're shifters and consider the rest of us helpless?"
"Not a shifter." Lena held up a screwdriver. "Not helpless."
"Also neither shifter nor helpless," Haven said.
"No one thinks you're helpless," Chuck said. "We just haven't seen you guys apart since we got here."
"Could I please order something to eat, Haven?" I felt annoyed and didn't have a good reason for it. They weren't lying. Juan had been a super-glue boyfriend for weeks now. "And place a to-go order for the overprotective wolf back home? Oh, and do you have any peanut butter cups?"
"You can't blame him after what happened to you at your mom's café," Lena said. "You scared him."
"I know. But enough is enough."
Haven gave me a solidarity nod. "I picked up some peanut butter cups when I drove into Roswell for supplies yesterday. I'm guessing the alpha wants his usual quadruple breakfast special and you want eggs and sourdough toast?"
"Perfect," I said.
"On it."
"Thanks, Haven."
"No problem." She tucked her hands into the pockets of her uniform apron. "So, did your brother go back to Texas?" She'd made no secret of her affection for Noah, so the question wasn't a total surprise. Noah, however, was so focused on controlling his prehistoric wolf he was oblivious to everyone and everything, including Haven.
"Yeah. He and Gert left yesterday."
I was actually pretty sad about it. Our little caravan had split up. Gert and Noah were headed to Texas, eagle shifter Amir Gamal was back home in Sundance, California, and my coyote shifter ex-husband, Rucker Vance, had crawled back under the rock I assumed was his permanent residence.
Now it was only Clive, Ruben, Willie, Griffin, Juan, and me—also Zeke, but he was still doing his best impression of Sleeping Beauty in an air-conditioned mage dome and wasn't any help.
"Bummer. Another attempt at ending my single status eludes me. I'll get your breakfast." Haven donned a fresh hair net from a box by the kitchen door and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Keep your mug topped off?" Chuck asked.
"Goddess, yes. I need it."
Chuck brought over a cereal bowl filled with water for Clive and Ruben. He set the water under the table and a coffee pot on a potholder on top.
"Bock," Clive bocked.
"That means thank you. I think." I stared out the window at Juan's truck and sipped my coffee. I'd half expected to see him standing by it watching me.
"His vigilance is getting under your skin, huh?" Chuck slid into the seat across the table from me with his own mug.
"I'm trying to not take it personally, but yeah. It's getting to me. I'm not weak, and I don't appreciate being treated as if I am."
"Alpha doesn't think that. No one does. Not after what happened to you when the wolves—"
I gave him a warning look, and he nodded.
"Subject dropped." He cleared his throat. "I think it's just him getting used to everything. He recently had a pretty big ‘come to Jesus' moment with his wolves. Now, all of a sudden, he has a mate and a new side of himself to contend with."
"So do I. Vox is no walk in the park."
"It's different for him."
Oh, hell no. I slowly turned away from the window to face him. "If this is a wolves-will-be-wolves talk, you can stop now."
"If he's giving you that kind of garbage talk, I'll deal with him," Lena muttered as she plugged a soldering iron into an outlet behind the counter.
"This isn't a wolves-will-be-wolves talk." Chuck grabbed his mug and slid out of the booth then plopped onto the stool next to his wife. "It's an alpha-leaders-will-be-alpha-leaders talk. Mi primo has led the Austin pack for twenty years. He's responsible for every single wolf in it—over two thousand of us. His responsibility isn't even a choice. It's coded into his DNA. Do you think that level of biologically induced responsibility lessens when he finally finds his mate? Or do you maybe think it's ten times worse? Yet he's fighting it as best he can. For you."
Lena swiveled around on her stool. "You aren't wrong to be upset, Emmaline, and Juan's not wrong, either. It's not a binary situation. You're both adjusting. Keep fighting for your independence and keep loving him, too." She smiled, slowly spinning back around. "Love is worth it."
"It is." Chuck kissed her cheek.
I sighed. This was the first time I'd gone out by myself since the attack. Juan had to be losing his mind. Yet he'd done his best to hold back his nature.
